


Patience is a Virtue

by Midori_Fuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midori_Fuse/pseuds/Midori_Fuse
Summary: Draco had always thought rain was a bit cliché, but he was glad of it now.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	Patience is a Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing MissDrarryDawn for Beta reading this for me. It is my first fic, so thanks so much for your kind words and support. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> I'm sort of new to tagging my own works, so if there is anything you think I should add, please let me know in the comments. :)
> 
> (Also, a word of appreciation to all the amazing writers that go through and put italics back into their works, especially the long ones... I never knew it could take so long. So thank you for the effort you put it.)
> 
> Enjoy.

Draco had always thought rain was a bit cliché, but he was glad of it now.

\---------------------------------------------

The war had been hard on everyone. Harry and Draco most of all. 

Hermione and Ron had found solace in each other, George had returned to his family. Luna and Ginny had been spending more time together. Everyone had a someone.

Everyone that was, except Draco and Harry.

As morbid as it sounds, everyone in each boy’s life was either dead, not worth knowing, or ‘off making goo goo eyes at each other’ as Draco put it, in one of his more ineloquent moments. 

They were alone. 

Two people, alone, together. An impressive feat when you think about it. What’s even more impressive is that people feel lonelier in a crowd. Not when they were surrounded by their best friends obviously, but in a group of strangers, in a school, in a workplace, it felt lonelier than being alone in a small clique. That was how it started, being alone together. 

\------------------------------------

It was a Wednesday evening, so the Library was quiet - the students usually left their cramming for Thursday or Sunday nights.

The first thing Draco noticed was the sound of footsteps. He stiffened automatically, his breath halting for a moment, but the footsteps only came closer, and then were accompanied but the sound of a chair scrapping on the stone floor. He looked up from his textbook briefly, only to take pause at the sight before him. 

Potter.

Harry Potter, the one and only, saviour of all, boy who lived, was sitting opposite him; his hair ruffled; eyes red and downcast; clothes looking as though his cupboard had thrown them at him; carrying books that looked like they weighed more than he did. He looked much the same as he always did, terrible, as though he had just walked off the battlefield. In truth, Draco wasn’t really sure any of them had ever left. 

He didn’t say anything, and Draco didn’t press. He wasn’t certain why the boy was here, but he wouldn’t be the one to initiate conversation. He wasn’t the one that approached the other man, and he didn’t have anything to say. That didn’t seem to be an issue though. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of the week, but he returned the next Wednesday and the Wednesday after that, and most Wednesdays since.

He still wasn’t sure why Harry kept coming back. It was hardly for the company. They didn’t even speak to each other. He suspected though, that that was part of the appeal. He provided Harry with a place no one would bother him. It wasn’t really the company Draco was looking for, but some days it was better than being alone. Better than the other ‘company’ he had come to know. He had noticed a considerable lack of hexes flying in his direction with Harry’s more frequent visits. Figures. The boy only had to breath and people ran off to do his will. 

On the fourth Wednesday he appeared, the raven brought a bag of sweets and cookies. He made no comment, but simply pushed them towards the blond. They ate in silence, each boy becoming lost in their own thoughts, accompanied only by the smell of old books and the sound of wind whistling off the castle turrets. 

The rest of the golden trio never joined them, but occasionally he saw them in the library, at a different table of course, just watching the two of them. Their gazes were filled with pity, and in the Weasley’s case, distrust. But they didn’t ever approach, so his thoughts never strayed to them long.

By the end of first term their weekly appointments, had become daily. They still didn’t talk, but they exchanged glances and nods. Their communication was minimal, but rather effective. It had gotten to the point that Draco was certain he could tell the other boy’s mood, and the amount of sleep he had gotten - usually not much - based only off the way he looked.

He had come to enjoy their little meetings. 

\--------------------------

The two began spending more and more time together like that. They would sit and study or read together in silence during their ‘eighth’ year, more often than not trapped inside their own minds rather than in what they were reading. In the weeks and months they had come to spend in each other’s company, they had barely spoken a whole sentence to one another. Greetings often consisted only of brief nods. 

Despite it all, there was trust between them. They knew what the other was feeling. From the look in each other’s eyes and the tilt of their heads, they could tell.

That’s how Draco knew something was wrong.

He was stupid. He should have seen it earlier. After all it was the bloody Saviour, when was he ever quiet, or without his friends? It made sense that the war changed him - it was going to be a very broken, albeit powerful, generation - it had changed a lot of people, him more than anyone. He had noticed the circles under the raven’s eyes getting a bit darker but didn’t pay it much mind - sleep had become a luxury many couldn’t afford. 

It was coming up to the holidays. Draco had planned to stay in the castle and work under the Mediwitch in hopes of practising himself one day. He wanted to do some good in the world. The two hadn’t spoken - surprise, surprise - but he knew that despite Ron’s invitation to the Burrow, Harry was going to go back to Grimmauld Place for the holidays. He didn’t blame him. Some days it was easier to be alone. 

One week into his holidays, he heard the news. The teachers had been murmuring to each other all morning. The news reached him with the post. On the headline was none other the Saviour himself, with the caption ‘The Boy-Who-Lived Dead!?’ Absently Draco noted porcelain falling and breaking, but he didn’t care and the teachers didn’t have the heart to comment. They just watched him sadly.

_No. There was no way. Potter had come back from the freaking dead. He couldn’t die. It had to be a lie. He wasn’t sure when but at some point, he must have blacked out._

\--------------------------------------

He woke up in one of the cots in the infirmary, the letter beside him. It wasn’t a dream then. It was real. He didn’t think he had ever hated reality this much. Never wished for nightmares so badly, over whatever it was he was facing now. A single letter had sucked the warmth out of him, leaving him empty and cold. Goosebumps and shivers trailed along his arms. The castle was supposed to have charms to keep everything the perfect temperature, but Draco just couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything anymore. He was just so cold. 

“Draco?” the Headmistress said to his right, but he didn’t look up. 

“When is it?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, knowing she knew exactly what he meant. She sighed. 

“Next Wednesday. Five days,” she said at last. “They… didn’t want to leave it too late.”

“Who’s organising it?”

“The Ministry.”

“The Ministry doesn’t know a damned thing about him.” She didn’t reply. What could she have said? So, she closed her eyes for a moment before getting up and leaving. He wasn’t insane, just hurting. Hurt was a strange thing. 

\---------------------------------------------------

There were thousands of them. Thousands of people turned up, maybe millions. The entire Wizarding world had closed to attend or as a show of respect. It was a sea of black for miles around, mirroring the dark storm clouds floating above their heads. Eulogies were given, from people that have never even met Harry. They spoke as if they had been best friends but it wasn’t the case. He hung back, behind most of the crowd. He didn’t figure they would be happy to see him there today, but if he was honest, he wasn’t there for anyone else, he also didn’t care what anyone else thought. It was his dead friend’s - almost boyfriend’s? - funeral. The world just fell away. 

Draco had always thought rain was a bit cliché, but he was glad of it now.

It took hours, but the mass cleared. The service had lasted most of the morning and many stragglers stayed behind to place flowers well up to five in the evening, but Draco was patient. He could be patient. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. 

Finally, there was no one left, not that he could see anyway. Draco crept forward easing his way between the floral arrangements that were laid out several metres out on each side. There had been a lot of people in attendance. 

Reaching the grave itself, he gently placed his own bouquet. 

Lilies.

He hadn’t spoken to the boy, not since the war at least, and he didn’t know how, but he knew for a fact that he loved lilies. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Harry. I’m sorry I failed you,” he said, any other words cut off by his own growing sobs. There wasn’t a crucio in the world that hurt as much as he was hurting in that moment. _Why? Why? Why? Why did it have to be Harry!_ The world could be pretty morbid and cold, but he was always there. Harry was always there; his tie never tied properly; his hair messy from constantly running his hands through it; his eyes always red and swollen from lack of sleep and tears; his robes always disorderly, and invariably covered in something - usually treacle. He was just always there. A little sad, a little broken. A shadow of the man he was before the war, but always there. But he wasn’t there anymore, and that simple fact alone left a gaping hole in the world. A hole that could never be filled. A hole that was red and painful and cold.

“Draco?” A hand touched his shoulder, and his head zipped around as he backed away, scaring the young witch. 

“What do you want, Granger?” was all he managed. There were so many snide remarks he could have included but somehow, he couldn’t manage them today. She took a deep breath.

“I… You… He left you a letter,” the girl said, eyes red and swollen, face downcast, eyebrows drawn slightly together. She held out a piece of paper, with the same stupid, chicken scribblings he had always been mad at. 

He reached for it, slowly at first, as though it would hurt him, and then grabbed it. She nodded, before gathering herself and walking away, and leaving him to his own thoughts. Leaving him to the contents of the letters.

Draco opened it - as fast as possible, while making sure not to tear anything - and felt his heart stop. 

_Dear Draco,_

_I know we didn’t talk much, ever really, but I think this letter should be addressed to you. You may send, copy, gift, or convey the contents of this letter to whomever you like - I would recommend reading it by yourself first, but it’s up to you. At this point, it won’t matter to me. Sell it if you like. I know your family’s accounts have been drained to pay for repairs, but I will get to that later._

_You’ll probably hate me for this. Honestly that’s probably better. Forever loving someone as a fantasy, as what they might have been, hurts far worse than loving them despite their faults. I would know._

_I suppose if you are reading this, chances are you already know I’m… dead. It’s a bit strange honestly, to get my head around, especially while I’m sitting here, heart beating, thinking of you. Nevertheless, if you ever read this, which I think you will soon, I’ll be gone. Don’t worry. I’m happy with my parents, in a place better than where I’ve come from; a place where the war can’t reach me._

_The War changed everything, didn’t it? It did for me, anyway. I was a broken child long before I turned eleven, but the war… just sealed the deal. I have no living relatives, at least, none that want me. And no I am not including the Weasley’s in that list. Molly would take me in an instant if she could, and I adore them all, but it was never quite… right._

_Anyway, family isn’t everything. It is and it isn’t. Your family is important, but come time, you must find your own family, and… I can’t do that. The world isn’t a place I am comfortable in. Yes, yes poor Harry the big bad world is scary, boo hoo. But it hasn’t been a place I can go for a while now. For a lot of reasons. I am scorned, mocked, idolized, and pitied. I’m not… I’m not human. That’s a lie, but some days it feels like I’m the only one that knows that._

_I’m pretty sure you knew that too though. That’s why we never spoke isn’t it? Not because you hated me or idolized me, or pitied me, but… because you knew I was just a stupid, broken, teenage boy._

_Some days people would say I was an open book, and that they could see my pain, or that there were lots of people going through what I was/am? - honestly I don’t know, the tense for this letter is just doing my head in. To the first… if I was an open book, someone would have gotten me help a long time ago. Maybe I’d just end up in an asylum, somewhere with no pointy objects. And to the second, I really, really doubt it, and I really, really hope not, and… if there is, I’m really, really sorry. No one should be going through this._

_Sometimes I think about us being something more than space-sharers. Friends maybe, and maybe… even more. I don’t know. I think that would have required patience. Unfortunately, patience is a virtue I do not possess. I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t do this. The demons… finally became too much._

__

_So, I’m sorry for never giving us a chance. I’m sorry for never trying to be friends or… anything else. I’m sorry for all the unlived moments we might have shared. But I think we both hid more than the world could ever see._

_I gave up on my chance. I let the world fall away. I let reality slip through my fingers, and maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe I could have done something to stop it, but, given that you are reading this, I couldn’t, or didn’t. It doesn’t matter either way. I failed. My failure though, doesn’t mean that it isn’t possible. I know this is going to sound hypocritical, but I want you to live._

_I know they wiped your accounts, and I know you will want to work eventually - you are good at so many things after all. Nevertheless, I wanted to give you a bit of a hand up - all that hair gel can’t be cheap after all. The Gringott’s vault has been converted to your name. It’s all yours. I have already taken some out to give to Molly and Hermione. So, nobody else needs it. Use it how you please. Leave it in the vault, blow it all tonight drinking after reading this. It doesn’t matter. Just know, that leaving it to you will have eased a few of my concerns. Don’t feel guilty. I wanted it to be yours, one way or another. One way just required less patience, so here we are._

_I won’t dilute the contents of this letter, and the messages behind it by saying sorry again. Instead, remember to smile. You always had the most ridiculously amazing smile. So, Smile. Smile for me. Smile for what was and what might have been._

_Good luck, Draco._

_With all the sincerity, a messy-haired Gryffindor could manage,  
Harry Potter._

He was sobbing. His heart, the traitor that it was, hadn’t stopped, at least not yet. Draco was certain it was broken though. 

“Stupid, ignorant, selfless, dumb… _bastard!_ ” his brain supplied, internally, or was he screaming? He wasn’t even sure anymore. No one interrupted him. “Why? I—Why Harry?” He cried harder, his tears blinding him, his sobs deafening him to his surroundings.

His knees had given out under him a while ago and he was kneeling down beside the boy’s grave, his chest leant forward in a semi-fetal position. His hands were holding his head, as though they could contain the screams in his chest. 

The last thing he noticed was the rain.

\---------------------------------------------------

“Hey Harry. Long-time no see,” the blond began as he laid a bouquet of white lilies at the boy’s grave. “Work’s been really busy lately. Madame Pomfrey has decided to retire and she wants me to replace her at the school. I filled out my St Mungos resignation yesterday. It’ll be a change, but I think it will be good for me. Anyway, I had better go. I am heading to the School with Hermione. I’m sure she’s told you that she’s going to be the next Gryffindor Head of House, and is going to teach Arithmancy, The Study of Ancient Runes and occasionally Muggle Studies. I swear that girl can do anything. So, I guess I’ll say goodbye, and I’ll see you next week for the memorial…” he trailed off and took a breath. “Bye Harry,” Draco said quietly as he went to join the girl standing at the edge of the cemetery, watching him. 

It had been ten years, and still Draco came back twice a year. Once about a week before the anniversary and once more on the date. He tended to stand back on the anniversary though. Occasionally, other people showed up, and he didn’t need the questions, or the hate. 

This year they were doing a decade memorial for the ‘legend’, but to be honest, Draco wasn’t sure how many would show up. Sure, Harry had been a hero in his time, and he may have affected the lives of many but very few truly impacted on, or cared for, _his_ life. 

Eventually, he would just become one of the forgotten legends they taught in the History of Magic class, left to the memories of the people that truly cared about him. 

Maybe that was the best thing people could do for him now.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to be kind to yourselves and one another.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
